


Gay Guide To a More Perfect Union

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson take part in a study of same-sex couples. In the name of science.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Guide To a More Perfect Union

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read an article in The Atlantic, called [**The Gay Guide to Wedded Bliss.**](http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2013/06/the-gay-guide-to-wedded-bliss/309317/) This story was inspired by a particular passage:
> 
>    
>  _Which is not to say same-sex couples don’t have conflict. When they fight, however, they fight fairer. They can even fight funny, as researchers from the University of Washington and the University of California at Berkeley showed in an article published in 2003, based on a study of couples who were navigating potentially tense interactions._
> 
>    
> Like any normal person, I thought, "What if House and Wilson were in that study?" So I wrote this. It's also a very slight sequel to _Cold Feet._

*******

“So, you two have been in a civil union for less than a year?” Dr. Fernandez said, using his pen to tap the file on his lap.

“Nine months, four days and…twenty hours.”

Fernandez chuckled and reached for his mug on the little coffee table between them. “Well, Greg, you are certainly precise.”

“Please. Call me Dr. House.”

House fake-smiled, just as he felt Wilson frown beside him. Since Wilson’s facial expressions generated a palpable force, House had become adept at knowing what his honey was thinking without having to speak to or look at him. It was pretty awesome.

“Sorry, Dr. Fernandez,” Wilson said mildly. “You can call him whatever you want. I’m partial to _ass._ But really, it’s up to you.”

Fernandez smiled like he’d just won the lottery. And of course, he had, in a way, House realized. Any psychiatrist looking for business would be thrilled to meet him and Wilson. But Fernandez was a psychiatrist looking to publish a paper on the dynamics of gay marriage; he probably thought he’d hit the sassy-husband jackpot.

House shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair, mentally kicking himself for giving in on this. 

It all began when Wilson heard about the research project from a colleague and immediately started harassing House to volunteer. Initially, he appealed to House’s scientific mind—earnestly telling him that almost all of the psychosocial literature on long-term partners came from studies of heterosexual couples.

And as Gay Men of Science, they were almost obligated to help advance the research on same-sex couples. It was a moving plea, yet House had been unmoved. 

Next, Wilson informed him that study participation would entail a full day off of work—plus lunch and fifty bucks for their trouble.

_I do like lunch and money,_ House had conceded. Still, he stuck to his guns.

But then Wilson broke out his ace in the hole, so to speak. He offered to be House’s sex slave for a week, provided he actually completed the study without anyone being hurt, fired, disgraced or jailed.

Part of House hadn’t wanted to succumb. For one thing, it annoyed him that Wilson acted like the offer was some big sacrifice—when, in fact, he was one kinky horndog underneath the pocket protector and sweater vest. But another part of House—mainly, the part in his pants—ultimately made the decision.

Right now, though, even the image of Wilson dressed as a Naughty Nurse and going down on him wasn’t quite enough to convince him this was worth it. Fernandez’s crony—a post-doc with a tattoo on her neck—was setting up the video camera that would be recording him and Wilson having a “casual” conversation. And really, nothing good could come from that.

“OK.” Fernandez clapped his hands together. “I know it might feel strange, given the setting, but we just want you two to converse like you would at home.”

House blinked. “See, that’s the problem. We don’t do that.”

Wilson looked at him. “Of course we do.”

House looked at Fernandez. “No. We don’t. We’re gay-married, we’re not women.”

Wilson leaned forward in his chair. “We converse,” he assured the shrink. “I have to initiate it.” He paused to glare at House. “But we do converse.”

House crossed his arms and kept his eyes on Fernandez. “You babble and I grunt. That’s not a conversation.”

“Gentlemen—” 

“I do not babble. I try to ask you about your day. Y’know, stupid little things, like whether you saved your patient’s life. Or whether the rehab is helping your leg. Or whether your liver panel—” 

“Yeah, yeah. Babble, babble.”

“Gentlemen.” Fernandez held up both hands in a Wilson-like gesture of conciliation. “I’m sure, like James said, you do have conversations. Even if they’re, uh, rather one-sided, that’s fine. That’s actually important for us to document.”

House frowned. “Will it be used against me?”

Wilson huffed. “This isn’t court, Perry Mason.”

“Everything’s court with you. _Judge Judy._ ”

Fernandez looked like he could barely contain his glee. “Greg—Dr. House. As you know, this is an observational study. No judgment, of course.”

“You don’t have to go home with him.”

Wilson muttered something under his breath.

“What?” House and Fernandez said in unison.

Wilson smiled tightly. “Nothing. Shall we move on? I know your time is valuable, Dr. Fernandez.” His face softened into the charming, doe-eyed incarnation that had long enchanted the PPTH staff. And apparently Fernandez, too, based on the way he dipped his head and exhaled an almost-embarrassed little laugh.

House rolled his eyes.

Fernandez then got down to business and explained that he first wanted them to engage in a normal conversation about their day. “Pretend you haven’t seen each other for nine or ten hours. And just talk as you usually would.”

He signaled to Tattoo Girl to start taping.

“Sorry, that won’t work,” House objected, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. “We never go that long without seeing each other.”

Fernandez raised his eyebrows.

“The thing is,” Wilson explained, “our offices are next to each other. That makes it easy for him to visit me—many, many times a day.”

“And sometimes I stay for a good long while, if you catch my drift.” House added a leer, in case his drift had been missed.

Wilson exhaled loudly through his nose. “ _But_ there are times when we go a lot longer without seeing each other. When he’s really immersed in a case, I won’t see him for a whole day or more.”

House shook his head. “You just had to get that in, didn’t you?”

“What? I’m not complaining. Just stating a fact.”

“Right. You never just state—”

“Gentlemen.” The hands went up again. “If that’s true, why don’t you converse like you would on a day when Dr. House arrives home after a difficult case?”

House slumped back in his seat. “Oh, gawd.”

Wilson cast him a withering look before nodding. “Fine.”

He shifted in his seat to fully face House. “Hey,” he said, voice serene and the corners of his mouth lifting toward a gentle smile. “Guess you had a tough case, huh?”

“Oh, please. That is so not what you say when I come through the door.” House turned to Fernandez. “It’s more like, _Ohmygod, House! You can’t even answer my text—_ ” 

“Uh, are you under the impression I’m a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Wait,” Fernandez broke in. “You call him House?”

They both looked at him. “That’s what you pick up on?” House asked incredulously.

Wilson shrugged and looked a bit sheepish. “We’ve always called each other by our last names. It’s…comfortable.”

“He says my last name in a variety ways, though,” House offered. “In bed, for example, it sounds like—”

“House!”

“Kinda like that. But you need to draw it out more—and pant like a Saint Bernard.”

“Oh-hoh.” Wilson shook his head. “Keep it up and you won’t be hearing much of anything in bed.”

“Whatever.” House looked directly at the camera. “He likes to use that as a threat. A totally empty threat, since he couldn’t go more than two days without it. I’m the one with the willpower.”

“Yes. You’re a study in restraint.”

House turned his head sharply toward Wilson. “Oh. You wanna talk about restraint?” He raised an eyebrow suggestively. “We can do that.”

Now Fernandez was the one shifting in his seat. “OK,” he said, voice slightly strained. “I think we should try skipping to the second scenario.”

House eyed him warily, as Wilson asked, “What’s that?”

“I’d like you to decide on a conflict you’re having in your relationship, and then have a conversation about it.”

House gaped at him. “Seriously? You’ve just offered him an unlimited bitch buffet. He’ll never be able to pick just one thing.”

“It is a tough choice,” Wilson agreed.

“I sense that,” Fernandez allowed. “Maybe I can help narrow it down. The last time you two argued at home—what was it about?”

“That’s easy,” House piped up. “This morning I said I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to come here. He said we made a commitment and we had to see it through.” He conveyed that last bit with a vocal quality he liked to call Smarmy Twerp. 

“OK,” Fernandez said, nodding sagely. “So is that a common theme? You feel like he makes you do things you don’t want to?”

“Yes,” House said, as Wilson said, “No.”

House turned on him. “He’s asking me, honey. Am I allowed to answer questions directed at me?”

Wilson frowned then flapped a hand dismissively. 

“As I was saying,” House continued. “Yes, he does try to make me do things I don’t want to. And he’s just generally full of helpful advice on how I can improve myself.”

Wilson looked at him in genuine shock. “I don’t try to _improve_ you.” He then aimed his Pleading Eyes at Fernandez. “We’re supposed to be having a conversation, right? This feels like an argument.”

“Well, right now, we’re trying to figure out an issue for you to discuss,” Fernandez replied, in a vaguely condescending tone that made House bristle. Wilson was many things, but he wasn’t slow.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but the shrink was blathering on. “And James, what I’m sensing from you is that you feel a bit neglected.”

_Huh?_

Wilson sat up straighter. “Wh-what do you mean? No, I don’t.”

Fernandez bobbed his head side to side. “Hmm. Do you feel just a little…cast aside when House has a complex case, or when he doesn’t talk to you? When he just grunts, as he put it.”

_Who does this prick think he is?_

“No,” Wilson said, sounding as offended as House felt. “I don’t—I don’t feel anything.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I just—I’m used to him being consumed with cases, or not listening when I talk, or forgetting plans we’ve made. It doesn’t bother me.”

House peered at him. It was a flat-out lie; he knew from the way Wilson was chewing on his bottom lip.

“Are you sure, James? You don’t feel like you put more work into this relationship? You know I studied the questionnaires you filled out at intake. The impression I got from your answers was…Well, you’re clearly the caretaker.”

Wilson hesitated. “I…It’s complicated. He can be self-involved, yes. But when I want something big, he gives it to me.” He held an index finger aloft before House could cut in. “Don’t you dare make a porn-y comment.”

“I don’t even have to,” House informed him.

“OK,” Fernandez interrupted. “So, Dr. House, you feel pressured to be someone you’re not. James, you think he doesn’t take your feelings and opinions seriously.”

“I think that’s simplifying just a little,” Wilson protested, crossing his arms.

“I know,” Fernandez admitted. “My point was to bring up a key conflict for you two to discuss. Remember, our objective is just to observe how you two interact in casual conversations and serious discussions. We’re not here to resolve your deep-seated issues. So don’t feel pressured to make headway.”

“Oh, great,” House said breezily. “As long as we meet your needs, it’s all good.”

Wilson sighed. “He’s right, House. We agreed to do this. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Someone’s changed his tune about the noble advancement of science.”

“Shut up.” Wilson faced him again, working his jaw for a few seconds before speaking. “So…Do you really think I try to improve you?”

House angled toward Fernandez. “I can’t talk to him like this. We never sit, face to face, in fancy chairs. We only talk when we’re walking, or leaning sexily against a wall—something like that.”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Why don’t you get up and pace and gesticulate?” House suggested. “That’ll make it more real.”

“Fine,” Wilson grumbled, before rising and taking a few steps. “So,” he repeated, as he turned and walked back. “You really think I want to improve you?”

“You’re like the self-help guru I never wanted.”

Wilson gave him the kicked-puppy look, and House felt a fleeting little ache in his chest. Contrary to widespread opinion, he did not get his jollies from making Wilson feel bad. But he was a compulsive truth-teller, and Wilson sometimes got hurt in the process.

Wilson lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “I don’t nag because I think you’re not good enough,” he said quietly. “If I tell you to be nicer to your team, or ask you to go out in the world and do things with me, it’s because I get tired of this jackass persona you project to everyone.”

He looked skyward then began pacing. “You say I’m all persona,” he said with a finger wag, “but you’re just as bad. You are not a jackass…Well, yeah, you are. But that’s not all you are.”

House pulled a face. “I don’t care if the whole world thinks I’m a jackass. You’re the one who does. And you’re the one who wants to go out to dinner with Brown and his wife, or take a class in cheese-making. You don’t nag for my benefit.”

“Forgive me for wanting to do something other than play video games and…you know.” Wilson swept a hand, Vanna White-style, in front of his pelvis, as his cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. 

Fernandez laughed lightly. “The gestures _are_ cute.”

House shot him a glare. “Eyes off the prize, buddy.”

Wilson exhaled loudly and put his hands on his hips. “House. I just want other people to see a little bit of what I see in you.”

Yet another perfect opening for a crude joke. But for once, House bit his tongue. “That’s your problem,” he muttered instead. “You care too much about what other people think. If they think I’m an asshole, let ’em. They’re at least partly right. And if you wanna go out with Brown, or take a cheese class, I’m not stopping you.”

Wilson gazed at him, looking thoroughly defeated, then plopped down on his chair. “I don’t wanna go alone,” he said, keeping his eyes down. “I wanna go with you. But you don’t…Never mind.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

House just stared for a moment. Did Wilson seriously think he didn’t want to be with him?

“Are you for real?” he demanded. “I practically have your every move monitored. How could you think I’m uninterested in you?”

“Monitoring me, and making sure I’m not with anyone else, is not the same as truly being interested in me.”

House was at a loss. “You think I’d spend over twenty years tracking someone who didn’t interest me? How exactly do you want me to show my interest?”

Wilson tossed his hands up. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe when I ask you how your day was, actually telling me? Or when I ask you any question, at least acknowledging you heard me? Or hey, you know what you could do? Just once in a while, ask _me_ how my day was.”

House made a “duh” face. “I don’t have to. I monitor you, remember? I already know how your day was.”

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed wearily. “You don’t know how I felt about my day.”

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._ “You want me to ask how you _feel_ about your day? How gay do you wanna get?”

Wilson dropped his chin to his chest. “Just…never mind.” He looked up a moment later, toward Fernandez. “Is that enough? Can we consider this discussion over?”

“No,” House said, surprising himself—and everyone else in the room, judging by their faces. “You can’t just end something when you feel overwhelmed…like you did with all your other marriages.”

“Ah,” Wilson said, with a wry smile. “Here we go again.”

House leaned toward Fernandez. “Not sure if he mentioned this in the questionnaire, but he’s been married three times before. To women. We’re hoping that was the problem, and this gay one actually takes.”

“Yes.” Wilson crossed his fingers sarcastically—because he actually could do that. “We’re just hoping my issues don’t ruin everything.”

“Actually,” Fernandez spoke up, “I think James is right. A pause might be in order. Things are veering a bit off-topic now.”

House scoffed. “You mean you got all the footage you need.”

“No,” Fernandez said evenly. “We can come back to this later, if you both agree. I was just thinking this might be a good time for a break. We can move on to the third part, if that’s OK.”

House groaned. “Third part? Please tell me this is like _Fear Factor,_ and you’re gonna make us eat donkey testicles.”

Fernandez blinked. “Um, no. It’s one more conversation. For this one, I’d like you to remember a pleasant experience you’ve shared. Non-sexual,” he clarified, focusing on House. “And then you’ll just talk about it.”

House lolled his head back on the chair. “We would never do that in actual life.”

“That’s true,” Wilson concurred miserably.

“Well, can you try it? It’s part of the protocol.”

They both shrugged. 

“Great,” Fernandez said, with forced enthusiasm. “It’s simple, really: Think of a recent event that you both honestly enjoyed together.”

There was a long silence. Embarrassingly long, even to House. “I think someone dropped a pin,” he finally said.

“An event?” Wilson questioned, sounding perplexed. “Well…We like eating lunch together. Usually. Does that count?”

“How are we gonna reminisce about lunch?” House countered. “’Remember that panini? Was that _rosemary?_ ’”

“OK, forget lunch. What else do we enjoy together? And I’m not discussing video games.”

House rolled his eyes. “Fine…We like making fun of other people.”

Wilson glanced at the video camera. “That’s not true,” he mumbled. “Anyway, we can’t have a discussion about that.”

He peered at Fernandez. “An event?” he repeated. “I mean, we really haven’t done anything big since the civil union ceremony.”

Wilson paused, in what House recognized as his version of an epiphany. Then he looked at House, his eyes lighting up. “Our ceremony. We both enjoyed that.”

House furrowed his brow. “Did we?” He pondered that for a moment. “Well, yeah, I guess that was good.”

“Of course it was good,” Wilson insisted. “Way better than the first try.” He turned to Fernandez. “The first plan was to do a formal ceremony in my parents’ yard. It didn’t work out very well, because he stood me up at the altar.”

Fernandez looked at House in disapproval for a moment, but quickly pulled himself together. “Uh, James, you’re supposed to talk to each other, not to me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Wilson giggled dorkily then returned his attention to House. “I know you hate it when I bring up the part where you humiliated me in front of my family, friends and co-workers, and completely and totally broke my heart.”

“Yeah. That’s not my fave.”

“But then there’s the part where you came and found me. And you admitted you were just scared because you thought you weren’t good enough for me.”

“Right. I’m not wild about that part, either. Can we skip ahead?”

“In a minute. This part’s better.” Wilson smiled a little. “You told me you were sorry about hurting me. And I told you I was sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough. Or I tried to…You wouldn’t quite let me. Remember?”

House nodded. He did.

Wilson cleared his throat. “So, skipping ahead…The second ceremony was a lot better, I think.”

House nodded again. “Definitely. We were both there, for one.”

“That increased our odds of success.”

“And I wore that ancient Ramones t-shirt you hate. That was pretty cool.”

“And I wore the green tie you keep trying to ban.”

“We are gay-married. You can no longer wear the green tie of sex—unless we’re alone.” House waggled his eyebrows, and Wilson actually smiled instead of grimacing.

“I thought Chase was pretty good at officiating, too. ‘I now pronounce you sadist and masochist.’ That was cute.”

House grinned. “Yeah.”

“And then we made out in the conference room.”

“That was totally the best part. Especially when Brenda walked by and I grabbed your ass. Girlfriend can haul when she wants to.”

Wilson giggled again. “Hmm…But for me the best part was the plate of Oreos that you stacked like a three-tier wedding cake.” He looked House in the eyes. “Your team thought you were being cheap and thoughtless. And you let them believe it.”

House shrugged. “I value my reputation.”

Wilson just kept looking at him, until House had to break eye contact.

“Anyway,” Wilson murmured a moment later. “That was my favorite part.”

House looked at Fernandez. “OK, is that enough?”

“You can’t just end something because you feel uncomfortable,” Wilson said in mock-bewilderment, like the bitch he was.

House drummed the arm of his chair impatiently. “My leg’s starting to cramp up,” he told Fernandez. “Can we get our lunch break?”

“Oh. Of course,” Fernandez said hastily. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” House brushed him off. 

As he reached for his cane, Fernandez spoke again. “You know, I have to say, the way you two just transitioned from being at each others’ throats to casual banter was…Well, it was pretty remarkable.”

“I am quite something,” House acknowledged, pushing to his feet.

Fernandez shook his head. “No, really. You’re the sixteenth couple we’ve observed, and the others all had a tough time getting over the ‘issue’ conversation. Although,” he added, standing up and moving closer, “the gay guys seem to get past it most easily. The het couples are the most uptight.”

“That’s why I went gay,” House said.

“Oh-kay, let’s get lunch,” Wilson sing-songed. “Back here in an hour?” he asked Fernandez, who nodded in return.

Once they were in the hallway, Wilson turned to House with a skeptical eye. “Are you really willing to go back in there?”

House blew out a breath. “Will we get the fifty bucks if we don’t?”

“Doubt it.” Wilson shook his head. “Listen. I’d like to finish what we started. But if you don’t want to, it’s OK. I won’t be mad.”

House tapped his cane on the floor. He didn’t want to say it outright, but he was curious about what would happen if they kept going with this. Maybe he’d get just a little more insight into the enigma that was Wilson’s mind. And that was his longest-term research puzzle, after all.

“You realize,” he said, “Fernandez will steer us right back into the _serious discussion,_ don’t you? You might have to admit to having several imperfections. There’s also a chance I’ll say some things that aren’t nice.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ll try to keep my wits about me. Anyway, like Fernandez said, the gays bounce back the fastest.”

“They sure do. And no one gay-bounces like you, baby.” House unleashed his patented sexy stare.

Wilson squinted. “I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll assume it’s a compliment. C’mon,” he said, starting to wander down the hall. “If we’re gonna go back in, we better grab lunch. What do you want?”

“I feel like panini and Oreos for some reason. You know, next time sign us up for a study that’s more light-hearted and fun.”

“A fun study?”

“Yeah. Like that stupid one in _JAMA_ a few months ago where they randomized people to eat dark chocolate every day.”

“But what if you were assigned to the non-chocolate group?”

“Oh, right. That would suck hard. OK…How about a study seeking to completely map the male erogenous zones?”

Wilson nodded. “I think the NIH is convening a panel.”

“Ugh. God, not the government. No one ruins sex like the government. Plus, you’d get the women’s groups screaming that taxes should go to ovarian cancer research.”

“Leave it to women,” Wilson agreed. Then he stopped walking and graced House with a coy little smile. “Luckily, we don’t need to wait for a taxpayer-funded study. I mean, we’re men of science. We know how to collect data. Analyze it. Calculate a p-value.”

House leaned on his cane. “You’re getting me hot, Dr. Wilson.”

Wilson stepped in, so he could speak close to House’s ear. “Then you meet the criteria for study entry, Dr. House. Intake begins tonight.”

House gripped his cane a little tigher. “Great,” he said, cringing at the high pitch of his voice. “I’ll do anything in the name of science.”

Wilson nodded, the little smile turning into a smirk. “In the name of science.”

 

_—End_


End file.
